Idle Hands
by SilverCascade
Summary: "Light blinks, and in his curt, calm voice asks what she's doing. She giggles and holds him tighter."


The first time their hands meet, she's the initiator. The tulips are in bloom, the promenade smells like butter and coffee, and the market folk boom about their priceless wares, white stickers haphazardly splashed onto all surfaces. A raspberry smoothie sits in her hand, beads of shiny perspiration trickling over her fingers. Her other hand is empty, too empty, so she reaches for the nearest thing that fits; him.

Light blinks, and in his curt, calm voice asks what she's doing. She giggles and holds him tighter.

"We're together now, Light! We're doing what people who are together _do!_"

He doesn't reply.

The second, third, and fourth times, she's holding him. The cafe that serves the delicious strawberry parfait, the luscious strawberry cheesecake, the divine strawberry milkshakes, that's the cafe she chooses for their dates. They dine often, Light picking at his food and staring out of the window when he thinks she's not looking. But she sees, and places her palm over his, thumbs brushing one another atop the wooden table. He looks at her, incredulous, and sighs.

"Misa, we're outside. In public. You know I don't mind what we do when we're away from all this, but-"

"I'm your girlfriend," she says firmly, "and even if you don't love me yet it's my job to try. I'm trying!"

The outburst of honesty isn't something she does often, but she's observed him long enough to predict his action. Accepting her challenge, he leans over, fingers yanking her by her soft chin and pressing their lips together. Brief. Coarse. Lovely. Misa keeps her eyes open. Light's eyes are always open, because he can't trust her for a moment - he doesn't trust himself, so why would he trust her? There is a sharpness in his tongue, so she doesn't touch it.

When he pulls away, she looks at him and narrows her eyes.

"That wasn't very nice." That was a lie. His lips were smoother than rose petals, even if he bit when they kissed like that.

"No, it wasn't." He doesn't say anything else, but picks up his fork and stabs the pastry.

Misa pulls her eyes down, stirring the remnants of the melting parfait, watching smashed strawberries settle at the bottom of the glass. Her spoon spits out clinks, and Light is too fascinated by sunlight on the grey walls to notice her wet cheeks.

The fifth time they touch in that innocent, intimate way, Misa Amane doesn't begin the manoeuvre.

It takes her so much by surprise, when Light grabs her hand, that she bursts out laughing and drops her ice-cream cone. Creamy pink glazed in syrup stamps her shoe, and she squeals. Light's wide brown eyes widen. He squeezes them shut.

"Misa, what are you doing?"

"I... Oh, my ice-cream!" She watches his hand laced into hers as tightly as her shoes are strapped to her feet. She's not sure what's going on, or why Light is holding her so close, but she has an inkling. The Shinigami following her, the gorgeous ghostly grey form of Rem, that's what she knows that Light, currently, does not. And it's her job to look after him until he can know the truth.

She leans forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. He doesn't smile, but his eyes are softer, warmer, and he dabs at his cheek with his fingers, wine lipstick staining the tips. Misa flashes him a smile. He shakes his head to hide a chuckle, but she sees it. Her heart implodes, but on the surface she's still a beaming, giggling, mess.

The sixth time, they're fucking. He's on top of her, his sweat steaming into the air, jaw clenched and soaked hair sticking to his scalp. He doesn't look at her, but squeezes her hands hard enough for her to cry out. She knows he likes it this way, but soon the warmth is taking her stomach. She doesn't feel his nails scratching her knuckles; her head is stretched back, and she's chanting his name like a prayer.

The last time their fingers hold each other, they leap at the same time. He grabs her wrists first, pulling them forward and twisting, and she tries to pull back. But when a car loses control, you steer into the skid; she pushes herself closer to him, baby fingers scrabbling at his wrists. She leans into his chest, crying hard, and he holds her hand. There is no feeling in his icy fingers, but there is hope in her heart. When he succeeds in this final endeavour, she'll forgive everything. He'll be so elated that he'll kiss her, maybe even softly, and she'll melt into him. He's holding her hand, even when she pulls away, even when he's talking, even when he looks straight into her eyes and smiles so widely it pulls her heart apart piece by piece. He doesn't let her go until she makes her promise.

"I'll send for your favorite outfit," he says.

"The black and white one."

"Yes."

"I love you, Light."

"I know." He kisses her forehead. "I know, Misa."

When he doesn't return, the ghosts in between her fingers scream his name. When the cold evening winds pull at her dress, and the rush of adrenaline seizes her hands, she looks down. It's going to hurt, but it can't possibly hurt more than him, more than Light Yagami's touch. She closes her hands the air, around his hands, and steps forward.


End file.
